


Forget

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Identity Issues, Mental Instability, Smut, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya is seventeen-years-old and back to Westeros for the first time since she left on the orders of The Faceless Men. She planned to do a swift, clean job, and forget about the land she had long forsaken. Yet, what happens when the past becomes the present? Revised and completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted at ff.net, but I have revised the work and completed it as well.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The winds of winter had long started ravaging Westeros.

That much _she_ had heard in Braavos and Pentos.

Though the news shouldn't have sent chills down her spine, it did. Deep down she could not reconcile the stupid Arya Stark of Winterfell and the Faceless Man she was becoming. Such a role took years to complete the test and her time would not come yet.

_You're being stupid. Arya Stark was a horse faced child without a pack. Your pack is the Order. Stop thinking about that girl, you idiot._

However, the face that stared back in the mirror made thoughts of Arya Stark difficult to banish.

 _Her_ face was nearly the same as the Arya Stark she could vaguely recall in memory, but they had changed greatly.

 _Her_ features had become softer, prettier even though the long face remained. The short hair that Arya favored was now down to her shoulders. Still, Arya Stark never had a long, faint scar across her throat. A scar she received from a slaver in Meereen during an assignment that went awry. Nevertheless, he died painfully and she survived.

_Valar Morghulis_

Despite the scar, most men were quick to tell her she was fair, never knowing the daggers and poisons she hid in her breeches, bodices, or skirts.

_Men are the easiest kill. They're so eager and stupid to see you slip off your smallclothes they never quite notice the strangulation about to come their way._

In time she realized that girls were not stupid at all. That honor belonged to men.

But that time had passed and now, she was back in Westeros for the first time since she left on that ship to Braavos.

 _Her_ name would be Catha Snow for the time if anyone dared ask this fair maiden.

The assignment given to her was to kill Emmon Frey, Lord of Riverrun.

 _She_ tried her best to deny the unexpected glee that erupted in her heart when she was assigned this kill. Lord Emmon was a Frey, but Riverrun was Tully land, and that she could not forget.

Yet, her face remained as cold and dutiful as ever. The pleasure from this kill would be sweet and personal. Perhaps Lord Emmon was not on her prayer list, but his death would be just as sweet.

 Winter was thought to tame the warring lands of Westeros, but the appeared to be the opposite as far as anyone could see. The desperation for power was palpable and the lands outside knew of the conflicts. Indeed, King Tommen had only reigned for two years before being murdered by Aegon the Pretender and afterwards, Queen Myrcella shortly took over the tumultuous Iron Throne.

Queen Myrcella's throne was being challenged by the Dragon Queen and her mysterious new dragon riders in additions to further threats from Wildlings, Highgarden's capture by the Ironborn. These were interesting developments, but what caught _her_ attention was the news of a Northern uprising in the name of Sansa and Rickon Stark, the only Starks known to be alive.

She had heard about the uprising while spying on some Westerosi sailors in Braavos. While Faceless Men were to give these matters no thought, they kept her turning at night. The memories of Arya Stark of Winterfell had started taking over her dreams.

 But she was not Arya Stark.

She was merely _No One_ , _Her_ , and _She_.

So, she had started the morning off by dressing in the proper bastard attire. She alluded to the innkeepers that she was another young prostitute with a bit of coin who was in dire need of a room for a few nights. A few potential customers had even knocked on her door, but she sadly informed them that she had a case of green cunt.

_That sent them off right away. Idiots._

The belongings she carried were sparse. A few daggers bandaged to her leg, a vial of instant death in the binding that held her small breasts, along with a bag she never travelled without that contained at least two faces ready for switching when the time was necessary. Any true Faceless Man never needed much to get the job done. Only sellswords plundered around with their weapons, allowing their victim time to react.

Once, she had thought it cowardice to be so sly, but it soon became apparent that stealth was the greatest weapon of all.

The first thing she needed to do on this job was to find a way into Riverrun. She knew she was near the Saltpans, but her knowledge of Westeros had become rather limited in the time she had been away.

On that, she left the Inn and began to search through the lands. A guest had told her about another inn where children had taken over years ago after she asked if mayhaps they could help a poor maiden with directions.

It didn't take long to recognize the particular inn was speaking of.

 _She_ knew this inn was where The Hound and Arya had killed men years ago.

The memory sent a startling jolt through her being, but she shook it off and carried on.

That was just a memory of Arya Stark and it didn't matter anymore.

The walkway of the inn was littered with stones and wet patches of ground laced with snow that she didn't recall being there before in Arya's memories. She knocked on the door and was soon greeted by a little blonde girl about twelve or so.

"Hello. Are you here for someone, m'lady?" the child squeaked.

"No one. I mean, do you know the way to Riverrun?"

The child looked confused. “No, I've never been."

She tried her best to contain her annoyance at the child, asking, “Is there anyone who does?"

The child nodded her head. "Aye, I think Gendry might. Gendry, there's a lady here!"

_Gendry?_

And there the tall, bulky figure of a man came marching towards the door.

_Gendry. The boy from Arya's memories and dreams. The bull. The blacksmith. The bastard boy. The bastard knight who didn't come to save her._

The moment he came to the door, Gendry froze at the sight of her. His blue eyes met her gray ones, she knew the signs of shock and a bit of fear in his eyes clearly.

_Arya Stark is supposed to be dead. In a way she is. Seven hells, his face looks stupid. Will he say something and stop looking like such an idiot?_

"Well, isn't it the stupid bull. I'm looking for Riverrun. Tell me directions and I'll be gone."

"Arya? Is that you? You're dead."

Her  face remained stoic. "Obviously not."

"You should come in," said Gendry, his strong hand guiding her into the inn. She nearly swung her arm to crack his neck, but was stopped by the sight of children.

There were children everywhere. Poor, orphaned children. She could see the little faces of a dozen Arry the Orphan Boys in this room. Her fellow no ones.

"Hello. I'm Catha Snow," she announced, the stiffly spoken words sounding strange to her own ears

Some of the children greeted her back, but just as many ignored her completely.

"We should go to my room. It's more private," Gendry whispered down to her ear.

"That sounds suitable," she answered, moving further away from this great big bull she had no wish to be near.

The awkward pair walked up the creaky stairs of the inn towards a room at the end of the hall.

Gendry's room was small with only a few belongings. She briefly wondered how someone so big could get along here.

Gendry sat on a small wooden chair by the door, and he gestured for her to sit on his bed. She followed his directions, gracefully taking a seat on the edge of the hard bed.

 There was nothing but silence.

Usually, this would've made her somewhat uncomfortable, but she took the time to really observe Gendry in his tiny bedroom. He was even broader, taller than in the memories that still resided.  

_A man_

His thick, black hair was now accompanied by a beard, but the soft, blue eyes still remained.

"What's a knight like you doing running an orphanage?" A certain cruelty laced her words.

Gendry narrowed his eyes, the softness turning hard. "I should be the one asking questions. I, we, all thought you were dead. We thought the Hound killed you.”

She rolled her eyes and sneered, "The Hound couldn't kill _me_."

Gendry refused to stop making eye contact despite her efforts to look anywhere that wasn’t in his direction.

_Stupid bull. Stop looking at me. I'm not Arya Stark._

"Where did you go?" he asked.

_Why not just say the truth? Well, some of it._

"I went to Braavos," answered Arya, finally moving her gaze to his face.

Gendry looked incredulous.

"In Braavos? Doing what?"

"I've been staying with a family and selling seafood," she explained dryly.

"Why didn't you come back?"

_Why didn't you come for me? All of you turncloaks. You were my pack._

"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving anyway.”

"You can't leave," snapped Gendry, rising slightly from his chair.

"Says who?" she asked, anger bubbling in her stomach.

_Who was he to make commands of me?_

"Me," Gendry answered firmly.

Her fists clenched. "I won't listen to _you_ , you bastard!”

 

Gendry ran his fingers across his thick eyebrows in frustration. "I'm not going to force you, Arya, but your family probably misses you. They'll want to know you're alive.”

"What family?"

"Lady Sansa and Lord Rickon."

"They won't want me. Not after everything. I bet they won't even remember me," she answered, her eyes finally breaking away from Gendry, a bit of the anger melting into sadness.

_He won't see me cry. I'm not a silly, stupid little girl._

Gendry took his fingers away from his face. “I recognized you. No one else has those gray eyes or that 'I'll kill you if you look at me wrong' face. I can't think of anyone this small either."

Then, strangely, he chuckled, and that only irritated her.

"Shut up, already. The only way anyone recognizes you is because no one else looks like such a big oaf, and a blacksmith at that. Or wait, aren't you a knight? Ser Blacksmith of the Orphan Inn," she sneered.

"I protect these children from harm," Gendry said, his face losing the amusement from before with a solemn frown.

_Then why did you let someone like me in? Oh right. He let Arya Stark in, not a killer. I shouldn't be here. I need to go._

"Will you just give me directions to Riverrun?" she asked, moving up from the bed.

"That's Frey and Lannister land now."

"I know that. I'm not stupid like you.”

"What do you need there?"

"That's none of your business."

Gendry’s jaw went a bit stiff. "Is it business only for lords and ladies then?"

"Exactly. I wouldn't expect a lowly baseborn knight like you to understand. So, give me the directions or I'll find it myself," she answered knowing it would annoy him to be reminded of his low birth.

"How do you expect to do that?"

"Well, what's between my legs tends to be quite helpful in these spots. I'll find another idiot with a cock to help me."

Gendry blushed furiously at her words.

_He remembers Arya the child. Not a grown woman. Seven hells, he's a man and still blushing like a boy. That isn't attractive. Stupid brute._

"I'll go with you," Gendry said suddenly.

"No, you can't," she said briskly.

"Why not?"

"Because you can't!" she shouted, growing weary of his questions, of his presence.

_I need directions, not some foolish knight. I don't need one. Knights don't kill half as well as I do._

"I'm a knight. I can take care of you," Gendry pleaded.

"I can take care of myself. I don't need YOU!" she shouted again.

_I never needed you. Not once. Never. Not once._

"Calm down. I don't want the children to think we're fighting," Gendry growled, standing up from his chair and walking towards the door that he was slightly taller than.

"Then stop being such a pig head," she snarled.

"We'll talk about this later. You can have my room for now," Gendry said before turning the knob.

"Wait," she called.

"What?"

"Tell them I am Catha Snow. Don't call me Arya in front of them. Ever," she answered.

Gendry’s face took a puzzled look. "You're not Arya Stark?"

_Not in years._

She shook her head.


	2. Rain and Snow

The past few days had only been a lull in the rain and snow that fell over this end of Westeros. She looked out of the small window and sighed. This weather would make her journey to Riverrun all the more difficult, but the mission had to be done.

_Valar Dohaeris_

Gendry's cramped little room was nearly pitch black, but she knew it must be early morning. Her plan was to stay in at this orphanage-inn until morning when she would simply sneak out before dawn. The first mistake she made was allowing these children to see her. No matter, she would be gone soon, and all she would be is some stranger named Catha Snow. She pulled on her boots that lay next to the bed on the creaky wood floor and slipped them underneath her heavy woolen skirt. With a pull on her plain dark cape's clasp, she stood up to leave.

_This could have been Arya's life. Living in an inn with a bunch of bastard children and this dumb blacksmith while we froze to death before winter was over. No, winter wouldn't kill me. It wouldn't kill Arya Stark either._

The door of the bedroom closed behind her as she entered the small hall. To her surprise, there were no shadows of children lining the halls as there were the day before. She clutched on Needle strapped to the side of her leg as she made her way down the stairs. There, she saw the dark shapes sleeping in the hall, but none arose at the sound of her steps as they were muffled by the heavy rain outside. With one last look at the dark, cold hall of the inn, she opened the door and stepped out into the drenched snow. She could have stayed at the inn and asked Gendry for directions to Riverrun, but she decided it was more trouble than it was worth. He couldn't follow her. It was too dangerous for both Gendry and her. Thus, she stomped through the snow while the dark clouds only shown with glimmers of light. Braavos was chilly at this time, but there were only mild storms that occasionally flooded the city. This visit to Westeros was the first time she had seen snow in years.

Rain and snow poured over her as she walked in the darkness.

_I wish they had horses at this inn. I could steal one, and get to Riverrun faster. Mayhaps I'll find one on my path and trick some fool into giving me directions. After all, I'm just a poor bastard girl looking for work at Riverrun. They'd think they could rape me and soon enough, Needle would take care of that problem._

"What are you doing?"

A deep voice that she knew was Gendry's yelled out.

_Fucking bastard. What is he doing at this hour?_

She turned to her side and saw a figure walking with a pile of wood in his arms. He was drenched wet and covered with snow.

"It's a bit stupid to be out here, don't you think?" she asked, hoping he'd turn away from her.

"I'd ask you the same thing. Get back to the inn" Gendry commanded, stopping to look at her when he came close enough with a stern look.

"I'll do what I please," she sneered, standing up straight and firm, Needle gripped tightly at her side underneath the cape.

"Yeah, I s'pose you always did. Look how well it did for you last time," Gendry said, a grimace forming on his face.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" she countered.

"If you say so.”

_I hate him. He thinks he knows anything other than how to pound steel. I can make my own way. I don't need this bastard's pity!_

"Shut up! Except, except tell me how to get to Riverrun!," Arya shouted, her anger raising her feet to the tops of her toes so she would appear taller, more menacing.

"No, I won't. It's dangerous to be out that far in this weather.”

"You were eager to help me yesterday!"

"That's before the rains and snow turned. I thought there might be a few more days of winds, but there's rain. You're more like to die of sickness in rain than being taken by the Others during winter."

"That's stupid," she said, her voice shivering from the cold that suddenly became felt underneath the warmth of her anger.

"No, it's not. It makes sense. You don't know winter," Gendry said sternly.

"I don't know winter? I lived in Winterfell," she snarled.

"Aye, but the rain doesn't fall there the way it does here. The children are forbidden to be out in this rain."

"Then why are you out here?"

"We needed more wood for fires. I'm a man grown that don’t fall sick so easy," said Gendry, shuffling the wood under his heavy dark coat.

"I'm not weak.”

"No, I don't think you are, but you're small. Even lady wolves die of sickness in rain. Jeyne is strong and she doesn't come out in this rain."

"Jeyne?" she asked.

"She helps me run things here," grumbled Gendry, his voice taking on a tone that contrasted from the stern voice he was using before.

"So the knight has a lady love? Or is she your wife?"

_Not that I care. It doesn't even matter. Not even to Arya Stark._

"She's not my wife," he said quickly.

"Well, sorry I couldn't make the acquaintance of Jeyne Waters, but I have to be on my way," she said as she stomped past him, water and snow filling her boots, slowing her down.

Gendry turned around and shouted, "Wait, stop! You can't. Not in the rain. I won't stop you from going when the rain has settled for a bit, but you'll be in a fever by tomorrow if you keep going."

"Why do you care?" she shouted, refusing to turn and look back at him.

"I didn't stop you the last time and I won't let you go out there again," he said as his large hand gripped her wrist.

_Stupid. He caught up. Damn his long legs._

"You promise you'll tell me how to get to Riverrun when the rain stops?" she asked, still refusing to turn around and meet his face.

"I promise. Knight's honor."

"Knight's honor? What good that will do me. You'll never be able to keep me here, “she scoffed.

"I never could.”

"Fine," she said, turning around without meeting his face and stomping towards the inn.

Gendry followed her as the snow and rain fell over them until they hit the entrance of the inn.

Resting the wood he picked up over this shoulder, his hand gripped the door handle until she quickly snatched his wrist.

This time she met Gendry's eyes.

"Remember, I'm Catha Snow, not Arya.”

"If you say, m'lady," he said in a sarcastic note.

"Shut up, idiot.” She let go of his wrist and allowing him to open the door.

The hall of the inn was just as dark and quiet as when she left. Gendry walked towards what she assumed to be a fireplace, and sat down on the floor. His figure appeared to begin rubbing a few dry pieces of wood together and he muttered some words that she couldn't make out except for 'R'hllor'.

_He's still worshipping that stupid Lord of Light. None of these Gods do anything, if they even exist. Not even Arya's Gods in the bloody Godswood. They wouldn't have killed her pack if they were actual beings that cared. It's magic, that's all._

The fire crackled in the freezing room, and she felt warmth tickle her cold, wet face that was still covered in traces of snow. Gendry stood up from the fire, and walked towards where she stood near the door.

 He put his large hand on her shoulder. “You can just take a seat somewhere for now or go back to my room. It's your choice."

"I'll stay down here, thanks," she whispered curtly, walking away from him.

_There are still two faces in my bag. Who cares if they see Arya's face? Stupid children can't tell me apart from their own mothers._

The thought occurred to her as she walked in the fire light, and sat on a chair next to the crumbling fireplace. While she would not say this to Gendry, she was glad he convinced her back into the house. The rain left her long hair and cape drenched. She opened the clasp of the cape around her neck and took it off.

 As she settled it down near her feet, she noticed Gendry still staring at her. “Is there anything you have to say?"

"You look wet," he said, a small smile on his face was visible in the fire light.

"So do you, Stupid," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, but I was going to change into something dry. I was thinking Jeyne or Willow might have something you could wear for now," he said.

"I don't need to change, I'm fine," her gaze focused firmly on the flames.

"If you say so, m'lady. I'll be back," he said, turning towards the stairs of the inn.

Her eyes followed Gendry's tall figure as he walked up into the darkness of the stairs. When he vanished out of sight, she turned her gaze to the children sleeping. Only one head popped up. It was a small boy about seven or eight if she were to guess. She didn't turn her look from him and he looked directly into her eyes.

"Who are you?" the small boy asked.

_This one is bold._

"I'm Catha Snow, a friend of Gendry. And you?"

"My name is Robb Rivers, m'lady," the boy said brightly.

_Robb. Robb Rivers. That's a bastard name. Arya had a brother named Robb. The King of the North. He was killed by the Freys. Valar Morghulis._

She looked at the shabby, bright child, and smiled.

"I'm no lady," she remarked, a sly smile creeping on her face.

Robb Rivers' brown eyes opened wide.

"Oh. Gendry says that's what we should say to women. You never know."

"Does he?"

"Robb, who are you talking to?" said a woman's voice coming from the stairs.

She saw a thin, tall woman's figure walking downstairs.

_That must be Jeyne._

"Catha!" he shouted.

"Not so loudly, Robb. Don't wake the others, now. Who is Catha?" Jeyne asked before she walked down the last step.

"Oh, hello," Jeyne said, taking in the vision of the girl called Catha sitting by the fire.

"I'm Catha Snow. Gendry's friend," she dumbly said the first thing that came to mind.

"He's never mentioned a Catha Snow before," Jeyne responded, her small eyes taken with surprise.

_Gendry didn't tell her I was here. Bloody liar, she must be his wife._

"I'm not surprised. We haven't seen each other since we were children," she explained.

"But your name is Snow? Gendry is from King's Landing," Jeyne asked, a look of suspicion clearly etched upon her face and voice.

"Aye, my mother, Ros, took us from the North so she could work in a brothel down in King's Landing after my natural father died."

"I see. How did you know he was here?" Jeyne said, leaning herself against a wall.

"I didn't. I was trying to get to Riverrun when he saw me in the rain."

"You certainly do look wet. It's not safe to be out in this rain. I'm Jeyne Heddle, by the way."

_Heddle? Not his wife, then, if that means anything. Don't be stupid. He likely fucks her. She's not bad looking._

"Nice to meet you, Jeyne," she finally said.

"And you, Catha Snow," Jeyne responded, moving her feet awkwardly.

The hall remained silent with the exception of the fire crackling for several minutes until Robb yelled out, "Gendry!"

Both women looked towards the stairs and saw Gendry walking down. She noticed he was wearing dry clothes, but his feet were bare.

"Good mornin', Robb," he greeted as he walked down the last step.

"I've just met your friend, Catha," said Jeyne, edging off the wall where she was leaning, walking towards Gendry.

He looked at the girl called Catha for a second before turning his eyes back to Jeyne.

"Catha was wandering in the wood while I collected wood. She'll be leavin' to Riverrun when the rain and snow turns," he said flatly before sitting on a small stool next to the bundles cushions and blankets where Robb and other children lay. He leaned over and ruffled the heads of the children next to him, and they gradually began to wake.

"What will the Brotherhood say?" Jeyne asked.

"The Brotherhood went to Winterfell a week ago. Catha will be gone ages before they even think of coming back," he answered, avoiding the hard look Jeyne was giving him.

Jeyne's eyebrows furrowed deeply at this answer.

"Yeah, well it will be your problem to sort out. I'll be in the kitchens making breakfast for the children. Please, tell Willow and Allyn to wake up and come help me. Nice to meet you again, Catha," Jeyne said sharply, walking out of the hall.

Gendry's eyes followed her out and then he turned back to the children who woke up, making japes with them.

A few of them surveyed Catha Snow curiously, but they said nothing. She felt strange at being in the company of so many children. Cat of the Canals rarely spoke to the children who she stayed with. She became a woman grown in the worlds of whores, sailors, killers, and criminals of most other unsavory trades. Though she herself was an orphan, she was not so defenseless or innocent.  She never was. A distinct feeling of sadness overcame the empty whole of her chest where her heart used to be. These orphans were no ones, but they remained good. Some even seemed happy. There had been happy times like that in Arya Stark's life before she was Cat or No One or any of the other names she took on. The faint memories of Winterfell became less faint, more vivid as she licked a piece of snow that fell from her nose on to her lip. Was Arya Stark of Winterfell ever truly gone from her blood? Did she not still dream of wolves?

_No, I'm to be a Faceless Man. Arya Stark cannot live here. Little fools think I'm harmless like Jeyne Heddle. They don't know anything._


	3. Valar Dohaeris

A fortnight passed before the winter weather became relatively mild. The clouds above told her instincts knew that it was time to depart from this inn.

So far, the time she spent at the inn was awkward and lonely. While Jeyne did not appear pleased by Catha’s stay, she was a good host. Meals were steady, the sheets were changed, and she never asked Catha for pay. While her eyes never wavered in their suspicion, not once did a bad word come from her mouth.

She wondered if Gendry had anything to do with that.

Gendry’s behavior had been somewhat odd as well. At least, she didn’t know how to interpret his actions. There were moments when Gendry would attempt to get close to her during meals, his palm had even covered her own at one point, but there were also days when he stayed away from her altogether, off doing his duties. She wondered if he could sense her coldness.

As for the others, she did not bother to know them at all. She mostly stayed in her room, only to leave for meals, and to make water.

Yet, the cloudy skies brought a release from not only the horrible weather, but from the isolation of the room as well. She knew it was time to make a move.

Thus, she sorted out all her instruments of death, and dressed accordingly, clasping her cape tightly. The entrance of the inn was cold, dark, and still littered with sleeping children as she took her seat by the fire. There she would await Gendry and inform him of her plans to leave.

_He promised me directions, and I’ll have them now._

Over an hour passed before Gendry entered the inn with some kindling and a dead rabbit in his arms. Her eyes trailed him as he walked to the kitchens, failing to notice the girl called Catha by the fire. Wishing to not lose any more time, she picked herself up from the stool, intending to confront Gendry in the kitchen.

He was bent over, putting some of the kindling in a stove, when she walked in.

“It’s time,” she said, closing the doors.

Gendry sharply turned his head to view her in the doorway. “Time for what?”

She arched her eyebrow. “I have to go. The rain and the snow have settled. You said you’d give me directions to Riverrun once all was clear.”

Gendry was now standing up straight, his face screwed up in a grimace. “Aye, which I did. I also said I’d come with you.”

“You _can’t_ ,” she spat.

He folded his arms across his chest. “I will or you can go on your own with no directions.”

This assignment had come with a specific deadline attached, and she was already close to surpassing the date that was instructed.

Her eyes were blazing. “Only halfway. After that, you have to come back. Understood?” She said through gritted teeth, the frustration unable to be contained.

Gendry merely nodded.

“I’ll be outside. I can’t waste time and don’t ask why. I’ll wait for a short time. If you don’t come soon, I’ll leave,” she didn’t wait for him to answer, marching past Gendry to the door in the kitchens that led to the outside.

The ground was still covered in wet snow. She felt a chill in her boots, but, as long as she was completely drenched, it would not matter. All was gray.

Soon enough, Gendry came out of the inn dressed in his ratty furs.

He looked disgruntled. “I didn’t have time to tell the children or Jeyne or Willow that I was leaving.”

“You’ll be back soon enough,” she replied, picking herself up from the old wheelbarrow she had been sitting on.

The pair marched away from the inn, making their way into the forest, Gendry taking the lead.

She hoped he would give her complete directions to Riverrun, but he did no such thing. In fact, he barely even spoke to her, other than the occasional warning or to point them in the right way. She only responded in short, nasty responses, or grunts. The woods of Riverrun seemed familiar, except they were different from the way they had been during summer. Vague memories of the Godswood in Winterfell came to mind. These woods were now less sweet, more feral.

The pair walked well into the night as the clouds faded and a bright moonlight fell over the Riverlands. They had begun to walk along the path of a stream that Gendry said would lead to a series of courses, one of them leading to Riverrun. There did not seem to be any animals in the woods, but, nevertheless, she kept Needle in hand underneath her coat, ready to strike at any possible target, animal or human.

Eventually, their feet started to grow weary. Gendry yawned, and she felt a similar sense of exhaustion.

As they moved along the stream, she noticed a tiny, ruined cottage tucked in the woods ahead of them.

“You see that cottage?”

Gendry yawed again. “Sorry?”

“That cottage, deep in the woods, do you see it?” She snapped, pointing at the cottage.

Gendry’s eyes squinted. “Hells, you’re right. There it is. Do you think anyone lives there?”

“No, but let’s see,” she answered as she stalked past Gendry, moving towards the cottage.

 

Gingerly, she tapped the loose door open with her foot.

* * *

 

The cottage was dark, cold, and empty. Thieves had cleared though whatever had been left of the place, that much could be seen from the little sliver of moonlight that shined through the cracked windows. There also lingered a scent of rotting wood and a damp smell that must have been caused by the heavy rains.

Gendry turned to close the door behind them, but there was no lock, and he had to slam it shut.

“Hopefully, the door’ll stay closed.”

She said nothing in return as she walked around the tiny room of the empty cottage. Other people must have lived here at some point, but now nothing was left. She could understand.

Spotting an area of darkness on the corner of the cottage, she slung off her bag, and laid herself on the cold, moist ground with Needle still held firmly in her grip. Her eyes shut, leaving her in complete darkness. That was how she liked the world best sometimes. Her eyes even remained sealed as she heard Gendry’s footsteps. Only the feeling of his closeness, of his warmth lying next to her, prompted her eyes to open wide. She felt a sudden alertness run through her veins.

“Do you want to sleep here? For the night?” Gendry whispered.

“What to do you think I’m doing?”

“I was just checkin’. You didn’t say nothing about that before you came in.”

She didn’t answer.

_Maybe if I stay silent, he’ll shut his mouth._

“Are you cold? You can have my furs.”

_But he won’t._

She closed her eyes again. “I’m fine. The only thing I need is sleep, and I reckon you need some as well with all the yawning you’ve been doing.”

There fell a silence, and she began to feel the calm of sleep soothing her mind.

“I missed you.”

The words were barely audible, but they roused her from the hollowness.

She opened her eyes and cocked her head to the side.

Gendry was staring at her as she stared back at him.

“You don’t miss _me_.” The words came out so softly. She didn’t even know her voice could be so gentle.

He didn’t say anything.

Gendry sat up from where he lay, and he moved to kneel over her.  She felt her breath go short, but she fought off the urge to attack, to cut his throat, to pierce Needle into his heart.

His large, calloused hand stroked her sharp cheekbone. Her eyes shut as her body gave an involuntary shudder.

Then, his lips were on hers. Chapped, warm lips that made her feel warm, not icy like all the other kisses she had received before. As she tipped her head up to deepen the kiss, his head moved away. Gendry’s forehead tapped against hers.

“I missed you, Arya Stark,” Gendry gasped. The words were sincere; she knew how to read a lie.

For a moment, she wanted to say that she was not Arya Stark. That she was nothing. That she just was a cruel dealer of death.

But the words could not escape the tip of her tongue.

For this moment she could be Arya.

Arya laid Needle on the ground next to her, and she turned back to kiss Gendry fiercely, pulling him further on top of her. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, and his hands ran up her legs that were wrapped around his hips. Briefly, his hands stopped at the first weapon tied around her upper thigh.

“What?” His voice was so soft.

Arya didn’t answer, but she pushed him off. She took off her cape, untied the pieces of cloth that bound her weapons, and then hastily shoved the items into her bag.

She moved back to find Gendry sitting on his knees, his furs strewn across the ground, and crawled over to sit on his lap.  

“Forget,” Arya said in his ear.

Gendry didn’t answer in words. He only held her tight against his chest, digging his fingers into her back, and pushing his hungry mouth down to hers.

An overwhelming fog filled her mind, and Arya could not focus on anything other than Gendry’s touches and the feel of his body.

She could not stop herself from moaning into Gendry’s mouth. This only spurred Gendry on as he groaned and pushed up his stiff cock between Arya’s legs, the skirt now bunched up around the tops of her thighs.

When his mouth moved away from hers, Arya didn’t protest, arching her back instead. Gendry’s mouth found the tender flesh of her neck, licking, sucking, and kissing the scar across her throat. Arya clutched on his shoulders and bit her lip. She could feel the heat coiling in her belly, aches building in her sex, and wetness pool her smallclothes.

She needed the satisfaction, the release. “Fuck me,” Arya whispered into Gendry’s ear before biting so hard a bit of a blood tasted on her tongue.

Gendry laid Arya atop his furs while she clutched his broad shoulders. His hands reached under her skirts, and he rubbed little circles with the tips of his fingers on her inner thighs.

“You feel so fucking good, Arya,” Gendry panted as he moved his hands up to the soaked center of her smallclothes, “and you’re wet.”

“Take them off,” Arya choked out the only words that she could think of at the moment.

Without further instruction, Gendry slipped the smallclothes off. He cast them aside on the floor, and then began to untie the laces of his breeches, pulling his cock out as he shoved the breeches down his thighs.

Arya felt a pinch that took her breath as he pushed inside of her. She heard him groan as he slowly pushed in and pulled out; her hands slammed on the floor in response. He pushed in again, creating a harsh friction that seared through her core. As the pain dulled, sparks of pleasure began to take its place. Arya felt her cunt tighten around Gendry’s cock, and for a moment she thought she might peak, but, instead, Gendry gave one loud groan as he spilled into her, fingers gripping her hips so hard that she felt a bit of skin cut open.

Gendry’s heavy upper body collapsed onto her chest, but he didn’t stop thrusting his cock into her. When his mouth met the tops of her breasts, she felt her cunt contract into a spasm that shot from head to toes. Arya’s head rolled back onto the ground with a soft thud as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands moved up to where his head was on her chest, and she ran her fingers through his thick hair.

“I love you,” he murmured, “I think I even loved you all this time.”

 

Arya said nothing in return, only stroked his hair.

* * *

 

She woke with the Bull sleeping next to her.

_He loved Arya, not the person, the thing you are. You can never be that person again._

A small tear ran escaped her eye, and she rushed to swipe it away. She could not remember the last time she cried.

_It must’ve been years ago. I cannot recall._

So, with the stealth she could muster, she put her cape on, swung her bag over her shoulder, and clutched Needle in her hand. The smallclothes she would leave behind.

There was not a farewell, not a parting embrace, and certainly not a last kiss.

Lord Emmon Frey was dead before the next moon came. 


End file.
